


squash! goes my heart

by sarcangel



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M, Pumpkins, extremely soft domestic domesticity, nouistober
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-28 19:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21142064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcangel/pseuds/sarcangel
Summary: Niall just laughs and ruffles Freddie’s hair, and says, “Maybe next time, buddy,” in a way that shuts Louis up, because suddenly all he can see is years of Octobers, years of them, Freddie getting taller and Niall planting seeds on his stupid back porch like the stubborn-arsed Irishman he is, and all right.





	squash! goes my heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dearmrsawyer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearmrsawyer/gifts).

> a small thing for nouistober, based on yuzu's absolutely delightful art/annual campaign <333 sorry, yuzu, we don't know each other, i'm just Like This. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> and for jamila, who i maintain deserves all the soft domestic nouis at all times. idk if it's my specialty, exactly, but it always puts me in my happy feelings. love you, i hope you're feeling better! <333

Niall comes in from the pumpkin patch looking freckled and sweaty and it still makes the breath get tight in Louis’ throat sometimes. He’s a lucky person, though it’s taken time to feel that way.

“What’s for dinner?” Niall asks, toeing off his shoes carefully. They’re caked with dirt, and Niall’s still particular about those things, though it’s a losing battle. The dogs track mud all over the house - no matter which house they’re in - and leave hair in the carpet and on the sofa and every other available surface. And even though Louis doesn’t technically live here, Niall’s as generous with the dogs as he is with anyone else, and has the cleaning service come ‘round twice a week instead of once, and it works. They keep their separate houses, him and Niall; they spend weeks on separate continents. But it works.

“None of your business,” Louis says, watching Niall make his way over. “You’ll eat what I made, and you’ll like it.” He’s aiming for tart, but it comes out a touch soppy. More than a touch, if he’s being real.

“That’s probably true.” Niall steps closer, a smile tipping the edge of his mouth. “As long as you actually made something.”

“Well, I’m definitely not telling you now.” He turns away, towards the kitchen, but Niall’s too quick for him, sneaking his arms around Louis’ middle and his lips onto the back of Louis’ neck, huffing out a chuckle when Louis relaxes incrementally. “Oh, fuck you, anyway,” Louis says, leaning back all the way.

“After dinner, though.” Niall’s agreeable, nipping at Louis’ earlobe. “I’m fecking starving, been working the fields -”

“It’s your own garden, for God’s sake.” Louis closes his eyes as Niall’s mouth moves from his ear to his neck, to the intersection of his shoulder. “Let’s not overdo it.”

Dinner is shepherd’s pie, another potato-oriented dish that Louis has added to his arsenal over the years. Roast potatoes, Hasselback potatoes - even gnocchi, once. ‘_It’s your heritage, innit?’ _he’d said, when Niall had cottoned on and called him on it. Potato-gate, they refer to it now. But Niall eats everything Louis cooks without complaint, and does all the dishes after, and tonight’s no different. Bobby raised him right.

After dinner, they walk the garden plot, which runs horizontally across the back of the garden. October in LA is dry and warm, it still doesn’t feel right to Louis even after all these years. He expects it to be damper and grayer and smell like wet stone and leaves.

“More powdery fungus,” Niall says, bending down to fret over a leaf.

“Nothing you can do about it, love,” Louis says. “Though you’ve stared at these leaves so much, you could draw them in your sleep, I bet.”

“It’s ‘cause I see your face in them,” Niall says, still crouched down. He looks up at Louis, face bright in the darkening day, presses his hand to his heart, and sing-songs the rest. “_See it in the leaves, see it in the sun. See it in the twinkling stars, after the day is _ -”

“Stop it.” Louis nudges him with his knee, hard enough to tip Niall into the dirt of the pumpkin bed. “You’re an idiot. And be original, if you’re going to write more songs about me.”

“Careful,” Niall says, picking himself up, “you’ll wreck the pumpkins.”

The pumpkins are middle-sized, there’s no getting around it. They’re a true, deep orange, and look good, and some are big enough to properly carve, though both Freddie and Niall will likely pitch a fit if he even suggests it - but they’re not prize-winning pumpkins. Best be realistic about tomorrow. Still, Niall points out the ones they’re going to submit for consideration.

“Thinks this one’s the heaviest,” Niall says, pointing to one of the wider pumpkins. It’s squat, and lopsided, and doesn’t seem like the obvious choice.

“Bit like the Grammys, innit?” Louis says, standing next to the tallest, which is more oblong than round. “Submitting your own product for consideration.”

“Not really. At all.” Niall looks at him like he’s grown a second head; Louis can hear the bark of his own laughter echo off the back of the house and bounce into the sky, where it gets carried away by the last edge of dusk.

***

When Freddie decided he wanted to do the pumpkin contest, Louis was at a bit of a loss. He’s no farmer. It was Niall who took a walk into his own back garden and came up with a possible plot, a long rectangular patch that ‘_gets enough light, probably, between the morning and afternoon sun _.’

“But it's all grass,” Louis said. “Don’t want you to wreck your garden.”

“It’s just grass, Louis,” Niall said, with a wink for Freddie. “It’ll grow back.”

Niall was no farmer, either. But Niall and Freddie went to the hardware store and bought some seeds, and planted them in February in little peat pots on the back porch, and Niall brought them into the house when it was too cold, and watered them regularly, and fussed over their newborn leaves, and cheered when the first questing tendril of vine sprouted off of the stem. And when it was time for _ planting out _, as Niall called it, Louis got to sit on that same back porch and watch Niall - shirtless and sheened with sweat - tear up the grass, hacking at it with a flat spade, peeling back long strips of turf like wrapping paper. The muscles in his back and chest jumped all over the place, making a pretty good picture.

“Should have had this idea sooner,” Louis called out. There was a smear of dirt across Niall’s chest, disappearing into the hair there, and maybe it was Irish magic but it was ridiculously sexy.

“I’m not accepting comments right now, sorry.” Niall looked far from sorry, squinting over at Louis in the afternoon’s failing light. “Unless you’re going to get off your lazy arse and help me.”

“Not likely,” Louis said. “I’m happy where I am.”

“One of these pumpkins is going to be a winner, Louis. And when that day comes -”

“Blah, blah, blah.”

“- _ when that day comes_, it’ll be me and Freddie getting the credit, and you’ll be - you’ll -” Niall ran out of steam, suddenly, hands up in the air like he gets, mid-lecture.

“Tell me.” Louis stubbed out his cigarette, picked his way over to Niall. “What’ll I be.”

Niall narrowed his eyes, which meant he was a breath away from cracking up. “You’ll be crying in the corner, wishing you’d helped. There’ll be no pumpkin glory for you, Tommo. Just pumpkin sadness.”

“Pumpkin sadness,” Louis mused, reaching out to trace Niall’s arm, the cut of his bicep. “Sounds delicious."

It seemed impossible, but the plants took, growing in the middle of LA like they were meant for it. Some got battered by rain or trampled by animals, but most of them survived; enough that Niall and Freddie had to thin them out, pinch the smaller ones off at the stem so the bigger ones could flourish - that was a grim day, both of them trying to talk the other out of it.

“But Niall,” Freddie whined, hand cupped protectively over a tiny plant. “This one looks really healthy, I think it’s going to make a good pumpkin.”

Niall evaluated it carefully, doing a full inspection of the leaves and vine. “I agree, one hundred percent,” he said. “We’ll leave this one alone.”

In the end, they didn’t thin as many as they should have, and Niall bitched about overcrowding as the summer wore on, worried over the stems and vines and white spotty fungus and the relative sizes of the blossoms. It gave Niall something to do, over the summer; there were a handful of golf tournaments, a festival or two. But mostly he stayed put, or he tried to, and grew pumpkins.

***

The sun goes down early in late October, even living on the far western edge of the continent. It’s not a problem, having extra night with Niall, who tumbles them into bed early, skin damp and hotter than usual after his shower.

“You’re getting old,” Louis says, shivering when Niall pulls his jumper up and off. 

“I’m not.” Niall gets his hands on Louis’ joggers, gives them a gentle tug.

Louis lifts his hips, and the cool air hits him all over. “You are old. It’s barely ten o’clock, and here you are, getting ready for bed like a - ”

“We’ve got a big day tomorrow.” Niall interrupts, settling between Louis’ legs and tugging the duvet over them.

“And you’ve got gray in your beard.” Louis can find it even in the dark, the spot just to the left of Niall’s mouth. He presses his thumb into it, pulling Niall’s mouth into a lopsided smile. “Old man.”

“Fuck off.” Niall smacks his hand away, but the smile remains. 

Niall drops down, so their lips are just touching, and Louis has to close his eyes. Tucked under the blanket and Niall, he’s sheltered from everything - all the bad shit held at bay, outside the walls, what they’ve built. His heart’s beating like mad as Niall nudges his mouth more firmly against Louis’, as he traces Louis’ bottom lip with his tongue. No matter how many times they’ve done this, been together - it’s not like it’s still new; it was never new, not even when they started. It’s something better than new, something bigger, a thing so enormous it could make him fly apart if he doesn’t hold himself together carefully enough.

He’s got to hold it together. Niall licks his bottom lip, and Louis open his mouth, and the rest of his thoughts slip away. He runs his fingers through Niall’s wet hair as Niall kisses his way down his neck, and keeps going; it’s cold under his hands, sleek and slippery.

“It’s gonna be a mess in the morning,” Louis gets out, as Niall nips at the softness just below his belly button.

“‘S what a shower is for.” Niall presses his thumbs just inside Louis’ hip bones, and works his way lower.

The ceiling’s not made of glass; it’s plaster and paint, man-made, inelegant. But through it Louis can see the stars, swirling around him like Niall’s mouth - or he thinks he can, as the breath wracks through him, out of him, harsh and sweet.

“I know you’re nervous about tomorrow,” Louis says, into the darkness of the bedroom. He’s usually quick to drop off but Niall’s a bundle of nerves, and the raw energy of his anxiety is keeping Louis awake. 

“It’s just a pumpkin show,” Niall says. “Hardly the biggest thing.”

Louis rolls over. “You’re a terrible liar.” He traces Niall’s eyebrow in the dark, waits for Niall to put words to it.

Niall exhales, explosive. “I just don’t want Freddie to be disappointed. If, you know -“

“If he doesn’t win,” Louis finishes. He sits up, so he can look down into Niall’s face. “He’s not going to win, Niall.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do know it. Your pumpkins are great.” He bends down, steals a tired kiss. “I love your pumpkins. Best pumpkins.” Another kiss. “The only pumpkins for me.”

“Don’t think we’re talking about pumpkins anymore.” Niall yawns and tugs Louis down. “I love your pumpkins, too.”

“Good,” Louis says, settling onto Niall’s chest. “Now go to sleep.”

***

On Saturday morning they wake up early and get ready to go. Niall’s a disaster, hands picking at everything like flustered birds. Louis hasn’t seen him so fidgety since the day of Harry’s wedding, and he would’ve taken it badly, then, when things were newer between them, but there wasn’t any point to it. Niall’s nervy when he needs to be, and it’s enough for Louis to anchor him.

Bria and Freddie meet them at the fairgrounds, which are already bustling with parents and kids and the soft incongruous sounds of farm animals in the near distance. The fairgrounds are dusty and strewn with straw, and Louis feels like he’s been transported back in time when they step out of Niall’s car and pick their way across the rutted parking area towards the fair proper, towing the pumpkins in the little red cart Niall bought just for this.

“Dad!” Freddie yells, when he spots them walking in. “Come check out the cows!”

Freddie barrels toward them at full speed, pulling up just in time, thank Christ. He’s too tall now to reliably catch; he’s toppled Louis over a few times when he’s tried. 

“They’re so huge, and they follow me around,” Freddie continues. “You have to come check it out.”

“In a minute, lad.” Louis ruffles his hair. “Let’s get your pumpkins settled first.”

Briana lags behind Freddie, and her smile is both fond and long-suffering, like Freddie’s been talking about the cows for far longer than just the past few minutes.

“There’s the pumpkin tent,” Freddie points to a tent across the main square, with a telltale orange squash painted on a display board. “Let’s go!” 

Briana laughs and shrugs, and they head over. The pumpkin contest is part of a bigger show, with livestock and chickens and a tent built to showcase other projects. Louis feels distinctly out of place. Freddie’s school partnered with 4-H for this program, and the sheer number of children so deeply interested in agriculture splits his heart a little bit.

“Guess there’s still hope for the future, eh?” Niall murmurs and squeezes his hand.

Freddie’s not quite in his element, but he knows a lot of the kids and after they deliver their pumpkins to the ordained spot, Bria takes him to check out the cows and pigs while Niall finishes up their entry form and eyes the woman readying their pumpkins for display.

Afterwards, Niall walks the tables, examining the other entries, and Louis watches him - the serious way he chews the edge of his bottom lip, the way his hands lift and fall, get wedged into his pockets. There’s one entry that’s easily twice the size of theirs; it’s squashed and lumpy, like it got formed out of hot wax, and it probably weighs twenty-five kilos. Niall hovers in front of it for a long stretch. When he catches Louis’ eye he can see it finally, that Niall knows they’re outmatched. He smiles, though, and lets out a big breath, and makes his way back over.

“Let’s find Fredd-o,” Niall says. “Might as well make the best of it.”

“Freddie won’t mind, you know.” Louis says, quietly. “He was just happy to do something together. With you.”

Niall’s eyes go soft, and he loops his arm around Louis’ shoulder. Not quite a hug, but close enough for Louis to feel Niall’s breath fluttering at the base of his neck. Louis isn’t friends with the other parents, not exactly, but he and Niall have been around to enough of these things that no one makes a big deal of it, two pop stars cuddling at a farm show, so he brings Niall in the rest of the way, squeezes his arms around Niall’s ribcage.

Niall draws back. “This has been easy,” he says, as if his thoughts have gone down the same path.

“We’re old hat.” Louis shrugs. “Old news.”

They emerge out of the pumpkin tent and back into the sunny morning, extra-bright after the dim inside.

“Speak for yourself, I’m old nothing. Don’t look a day over thirty-one, me.” Niall squints around the fairgrounds, orienting himself. “Think the cows are over there, if that’s where Freddie went.”

It’s a good morning. Freddie shows them around the fairgrounds with the solid self-assurance of an eight year old, and Louis lets himself get caught up in it for a while, without worrying that someone’s filming them or taking pictures, lurking behind a hay bale for an autograph. So what if they are? Let them lurk. They burn their fingers and then their mouths on funnel cake from a food truck, and Niall curses when he spills powered sugar all down his front.

Freddie’s friend is showing a cow, and Freddie finally leads them over to the livestock pens, and when they get there Niall asks Mia so many detailed questions about her cow that she almost bursts with pride. 

“You can pet her,” Mia coaxes him, picking up Niall’s hand. “Anna loves being pet. 

Anna must weigh a metric ton, but she has a sweet face and doesn’t seem to mind being pet, at least, and Niall gamely pats her neck a few times. 

“She’s beautiful,” he says to Mia, and the absolute sincerity in his voice winds a rope around Louis’ heart and tugs. And as if that’s not enough, as if Louis isn’t already turned inside out, Niall turns to Freddie next. 

“Do you want to give it a go?” He nods at Anna, who has moved a little back from the fence, like Freddie’s not already bouncing up on his toes at the prospect. “Can give you a hoist, if you want to have a try. If your dad says it’s all right, that is.” 

Niall glances over at Louis at exactly the same time as Freddie, and the hopeful look on their faces is so similar he’d swear for a second that Niall was Freddie’s dad, if he didn’t know better. There’s probably a conspiracy theory to that effect floating around, actually.

“Of course,” Louis says, and then Niall’s hoisting Freddie up and over the fence, Superman-style, so Freddie can pat the cow.

It must be something in the air, thick with dust and straw and the tang of animals, or the way the thin midday light sits on Niall’s shoulders and Freddie’s grinning face, that clogs Louis’ throat all of a sudden, makes the breath go heavy in his chest. It’s allergies, is what it is.

The pumpkins are judged right before lunch. Freddie doesn’t win. He doesn’t place at all, and cares not one bit about it. Niall handles it fine, too, despite his competitive streak; and so it ends up being Louis who’s ignited by anger, lit up with the unfairness of it all. 

“This is bullshit,” he mutters, loud enough for only Briana and Niall to hear him. Probably. But fuck these parents and their obvious farmer advantages. “It’s clearly rigged, it’s ridiculous. I don’t think some of these are even pumpkins, to be honest -“ 

Niall just laughs and ruffles Freddie’s hair, and says, “Maybe next time, buddy,” in a way that shuts Louis up, because suddenly all he can see is years of Octobers, years of _ them_, Freddie getting taller and Niall planting seeds on his stupid back porch like the stubborn-arsed Irishman he is, and all right. It’s a life they’ve made, are making together. He feels bowled over with the need to make it permanent, in this moment, at a 4-H meet in Los Angeles county on a late October day - _ right now, _ his brain is beating at him, _ ask him now. _Niall catches his eye and winks, oblivious, and the moment breaks.

Louis lets go of the breath he’s holding, surprised it doesn’t blow out the sides of the pumpkin tent like a tornado. He wraps an arm around Freddie’s shoulders, which are already almost up to his own.

“I’m hungry after all this drama. Let’s go for lunch,” Louis says, giving Freddie a squeeze. “You pick the spot.”

“Anywhere?” Freddie asks. He elbows Louis in the side, and Louis knows already what he’s going to pick.

“Anywhere,” Louis replies. “Do your worst.”

Freddie grins and grabs Briana’s hand, starts towing her toward the exit. “Ronnie’s it is.”

“We’ll see you there,” Bria says, over her shoulder, letting Freddie drag her away.

“Yeah,” Louis says, reaching for Niall’s hand. Niall threads their fingers together, sweeping his thumb across the inside of Louis’ wrist. It makes him want to shiver. “We’ll see you there.”

[check out yuzu's lovely, incredible nouistober art](https://underripeyuzu.tumblr.com/)


End file.
